Payload
by Simpli
Summary: Sometimes the contents of just one fighter is all needed to change to world... ...but a captain of the Confederate Navy is due for a bad awakening on the homeworld: Genii.


**Payload**

* * *

Nightmares of Old stalked the streets of the once proud city of Tharum: their sleek fighters darting through the dark sky above the city: their wails of their engine creating panic wherever it was heard and always aiming towards the largest concentration of fleeing city folk. There had been checkpoints all through the city: half-finished concrete bunkers and stations that were intended to be used in the scenario that was currently playing out…but the Confederation never get to finish them.

Even so: she could hear the gunfire and the louder booming cracks of the Anti-Air-Guns as they opened up from formerly concealed positions: their guided shells filling the air with sharp fragments that tore into the living hulls of their enemy's ships and were even able to down a few before they were stormed by landed troops and silenced forever. But even as they were silenced one after another, the next position opened up once more: trying their best to cover the cowering civilians as they flooded into the bunkers that had been left from the last wars fought on the planet before the Confederation and the Unification. Each of the soldiers they drove past, knew that they were looking towards a fate worse than death, but they stood their grounds valiantly in the ruins of the cities, even as the nightmares stalked the shadows and tore into them: armies falling apart into regiments….regiments into battalions….man and woman getting torn apart or put down with little to no effort by the inhumanly fast and agile enemy fighters that used the cover of the night to break each unit that tried to get into their way, some regions held by units that were merely organized on platoon level or only as squads that had last all other coherence with the larger command structure.

The Truck that had gotten them out of the military hospital was driving over the road at a break-neck speed and each bump in the street was felt by them as the benches on which they side jumped up and down with them on it. Looking to her left, she could see one of the pilots that had been wounded at the disastrous battle of Clypsos bit down on his lips, stifling a cry as the bandages on the side of his head were coloured rosy and his face pale, but sill he endured: his face riveted on the city they passed: the burning houses and the small scrambling figures that stood amidst the devastation, as if they couldn`t believe what was going on.

"Mosquito! To the Left!"

The co-driver suddenly cried out, the radio in his helmet working nonstop as he guided us through the city, the driver reaction instantly and throwing the vehicles to the side and behind the ruin of what had once been a super market: the towering façade burned out and the windows smashed by the pressure of the bombardment. The change of direction didn`t come a moment to late as the wailing abomination that was the enemy's fighter, wailed over the street: its dark blue and purple colour making it only barely visible against the dark of the night and the smoke of the fires: but was visible was its beam. The military patients inside the truck could only watch in horror as a shimmering beam trailed below it: moving across the street and every single person that touched it, no matter if they stood, lie or tried to run away…every one of them disappeared from sight as the Mosquito turned upwards again and took to the sky with its cargo. Soft prayers were whispered in the truck as it started to move again, mixed with vows of vengeance as tired eyes looked up to the sky with hatred, the sleek and deadly form of an enemy's escort overshadowing the city and raining fire on each place the army tried to gather and form a resistance once more. It had taken the enemies hours to establish orbital dominance, while it had only taken them minutes to tear through the fleet that had been tasked with the defence of the capital world of the Confederation. But whatever they tried to do, their weapons and soldiers didn`t seem to be able to fight against the enemy eye to eye and as they listened to the radio they had to hear of horrors that did seem just like out of the old stories…stories that had been so eager to forget, as they had grown and become full of themselves.

The streets before them were empty, a nearby bunker having drawn most of the people and those that were not…from what they had heard the local AA-Network had disintegrated under the enemy's attack, which had overrun their position and then allowed for the fighters to swoop down and gather all the stragglers, taking them up towards the invading ships and what happened up there…

Blanching at the thought, she found herself staring at the woman opposite of her, who was wearing a quickly thrown over pilot suit and the gleaming symbol of the Aerospace wings on her collar, her eyes dull from the morphine that she had gotten in the hospital, even as she murmured:

"Captain…ma'am I want in my cockpit…I…fuck…"

As the pilot wrenched her eyes shut, the sight outside reaching her even through the daze the drugs were putting her mind into, the others in the truck looked at her for a moment, before evading her gaze and looking down again, clenching their fists and their heads simply moving with the movement of the truck as it carried them out of the town.

Leaning back, she touched her stiff leg lightly, the bandages still tight around it and the memories of her last command…closing her eyes she forced the memories back down and concentrated herself on the sounds of the truck: only the here and now counted: they had lost too many people in the Navy, too many pilots that took off and never touched down again, too many ships blown apart under powerful weapons or boarded by faceless drones that combed through each section after another without any hint of fear from anything. So here they were: a group of wounded and invalids, deemed important enough to risk a truck and two army goons to ferry them towards the next airbase.

Multiple times they passed friendly positions and each time the number of soldiers that were hiding in ruined stores or bombed out houses was getting smaller and the state of the people and their equipment worse. One Street was covered in armoured vehicles, a whole column of them reaching from one crossing to another and all of them nothing more than burned out husks, while others had been torn open with no traces of their crew visible, except for the spend cartridges that littered the floor around their hatches. The soldiers the furthest away, still answered to their arrival with war cries of their own and a few raised rifles from behind a barricade: but the heavier the combat in an area was, the deadened the defenders: as if the enemy was dulling their minds and hopes, until nothing remained but the single obsession to dig in and hold, to kill and be killed at the orders of long dead officers, that hadn`t hidden away and instead braved the enemy together with their troops. Everyone knew that hiding wasn`t an option and the fight for the capital was already raging since the morning of the last day: those that tried to desert or leave their post, meeting their end either mercifully by a bullet from their own troops or finding themselves as another prisoner of the nightmares that had descended onto them.

As they moved away from the fought over centres of the city, the world seemed to dull to become silent and dead. They passed through suburbs bare of any inhabitants, the streets littered with suitcases and other belongings that were hazardously strewn around or simply chilling, like a group of suitcases that stood close to another as if their owners had left just as they walked away with them…a small doll resting on the floor and looking up to the passing truck.

Even the doors were open and in some houses light still flickered, where the fighting hadn'`t yet torn apart the cables running beneath the street. It had something of a ghost town and the effect wasn`t lost on the navy personal as they drove past, a few of the group having lived themselves in settlements like this…their families…friends…most likely already gone with the nightmares "harvest" having begun in the areas the least defended. They simply didn`t behave like any of the enemies the Confederation had fought so far: where others would have started with the war important industry and the infrastructure, the Nightmares seemed to have concentrated on the military installations first: taking them out one by one before diving down onto the living quarters and whatever crowds and frequented places they could find: their mosquitos gathering everyone that had the misfortune to be in the open up with their beams and then carried their victims up to their ships.

If the legends were to believed and what the army members that had the misfortune to watch the enemy…to watch them…them feed, were telling was true: then each and every victim was only another meal for the invaders. At first no one had officially confirmed the rumour, but the more colonies fell to the nightmares, the more details were getting spread through the armed forces: of people aging in moments, their very life drained out of them to feed those ghastly creatures, while they themselves could use this to heal from the worst of damages and continue fighting without needing to stop. There was something…fundamentally wrong about fighting an enemy like this: one that did judge them as nothing more than food and chattel and broke through the Confederations defence with loosing at most an escort or two, while no amount of defenders was able to even slow down their large capital ships: fleets fleeing from their approaching menacing hulls as nightmares plagued the crew and made them shoot and jump on shadows.

The situation was bleak, a victory impossible and still the truck drove on, without anyone inside making any noise, except the sudden groan or moan of pain as old and fresh wounds were stressed with each movement the passengers had to do. After little more than a few hours – something the felt like a small eternity- they finally came to a stop again: the buildings before them in a nearby forest close to the capital and with no light running outside to hide it from the invaders.

Jumping out of the truck and walking forward, hearing the footsteps of the other personal from the Navy and Aerospace wings that had been transported here, she came to attention as a tired looking Aerospace-Colonel looked at her with dark eyes:

"Captain, you are still qualified to pilot a fighter?"

The curt question didn`t need more of an answer than a short nod from her side, before the Colonel turned and clasped his hands between his back looking at the others from the transport:

"The same question applies to all of you: we need to get as many birds into the air as we can: each of you has at one point of their career flown a fighter…or at least a plane."

Small nods and winces were the replies to this, the gloomy mood of the drive not leaving anyone in the mind-set to start either long winded answers or to ask what was going on and why they were needed. Following a gesture of the Colonel they started to move towards one of the hangar buildings, their heads down as they heard the distant thunder of artillery and the wailing of the mosquitos that was getting intermixed with the sharp cracks of the anti-air guns, while a few shoulder mounted missiles took to the sky and in some cases even hit their mark…but more often than not without really incapacitating the enemy fighters.

Their group was ushered into the building and into a locker room, where a motley band of other wounded or more…civilian pilots were already getting into gear: slipping into the flight suits and donning their helmets, the computer based systems in them either fried already or showing nothing more than static and protesting that the satellites that should have guided them were missing. Looking to her side as she pulled the suit close, the captain looked at the shivering and pale man next to her, trying to smile encouragingly even if she didn`t feel any hope in this situation:

"Not a fighter pilot?"

She asked silently and he flinched a little before looking up to her and then nodding:

"I am….I was in the local sailplane club…me and the others…well we were scooped up when the military was searching for people with experience in flying and….and….",

He seemed to be close to tears as he closed his suit and grabbed the helmet, pushing it harder onto his own head than needed and wincing a little from the pain as he gasped out:

"They got my wife…my mates and I were away with our planes when they moved into your city and now…now I just want to help."

"There`s nothing more each of us can do."

She said simply and looked around: most of the people didn`t seem to know how to put on their suits…nor did they seem to know what the systems in their helmet was for and she could watch they eyes move from side to side as they struggled to make a sense out of the multitude of data displayed…or the glaring red warning messages that flashed over their vision. Later rather than sooner, they were all suited up and once more the soldiers from the security detail were urging them forward until they stepped into the hangar, the view in it was…surprising.

The newer Sword-Shark designs were standing wing to wing with the venerable Albatross, a type of fighter she had last seen in the Aerospace-museum and before that in the academy, when they had their basic lessons in historical airplanes and their handling. A quick glance through the barely illuminated hangar showed more than six different types of planes that had been thrown together: some of them showing just as much damage from their last battles as the pilots that were now climbing…or in some cases even lifted into their cockpits.

"Captain: Sword-Shark 2-2 for you."

One of the ground personal in their dark overalls suddenly called out and with a nod she was moving towards the indicated craft, nimbly taking the small stair case that helped her into the oval body of the fighter. As soon as she was inside, she sunk into the pilot chair and strapped herself in, the twin straps running over her chest as she was linked into the local operation network, her hands moving over the controls…a bit rusty, but still able to guess correctly which step came after another.

All round here the planes were slowly coming to life, their engines being awakened with a spark: sometimes by the pilot alone and more often than one should be comfortable by ground personal that was leaning into the cockpit from the side and instructing the pilots on how to take off…. the question on how to land wasn`t something that anyone really thought important at this time.

People hurried all around her fighter: pushing open the doors that had shielded the emissions from the hangar so far and allowing them to take off the airstrip that was now barely visible against the darkness of the woods around them. Pushing the controls forward and checking the status of her engines for a last time, she waited and checked the armament…. nearly no missiles: no bombs and the only thing that everyone had close to nominal capacity were the tracers…tracers for their guns of all things. This felt rushed…it was rushed: they didn`t even have a mission briefing before their start was scheduled: now.

"All pilots ready to take off, Target will be the enemy craft over the capital. Wing organization is redundant – we have partly control over the national defence and attack missile systems from the last war: we are going to launch nuclear missiles at the invaders and you will have to distract the enemy fighters before they can stop them."

Stop nuclear missiles with fighters….it might have been a laughable concept before, but the invaders had displayed this ability multiple times, since the start of their attack…or rather as soon as the Confederated forces became desperate enough to use nuclear devices above their own planets. But to use them above the capital itself? It was telling how easily the order came and how no one in the fighters did voice any protest towards the idea…those that were still left in the city and below the enemies' escort, would be better off to die from the radiation or falling debris than by the hand of those monsters.

As the airstrip was cleared she started to accelerate: the large wings of the Sword-Shark trembled as they became faster and faster, the turbine on the back of the craft propelling it forward as she started to pull the controls upwards: the on board systems displaying the right moment to take off and without further action they were leaving the floor: the wheels and the landing gear pulling into the blocky body of the Aero-Space fighter as she took on a position that was roughly in the second line of the regulars…and behind them a fireball flamed up.

Looking down she could see one of the older models planted nose first in a ditch next to the airship, its hull smoking for a moment, before it was consumed by fire as the easily flammable fuel was sparked off. The first death of this mission…with no enemy even close.

She tore her eyes away from the view again and instead pushed up the throttle, the shark lurching forward under her as lead elements distanced themselves from the older models: a measure intended to protect the trained pilots from interference by the volunteers, while also serving to lure the nightmares mosquitos towards the faster more modern ships, while allowing the older models to survive for longer – hopefully.

"Sword-Shark 2-1 speaking: Beyond Visual Range engagement, before we spread out for Basic fighter manoeuvres on your own discretion. Enemy has superior jamming capacities; missiles are going to drop even if you try to keep the lock – don`t get killed trying to keep it."

She didn`t even know who was in command of her wing, but the orders were simple: be a distraction and with the situation in the airspace above the capital units had long since broken down into single fighters that refuelled and restocked when they could and then formed small rough patchwork units…or they did not return at all. The radar on her fighter latched to the systems of the others and she soon found herself staring at a crowded radar picture: friendly and unknown contacts appearing and disappearing every moment: the enemy jamming turning the sensors that should give her total awareness of the battlefield into a torn mess.

"Contact! 3423 – Distance 43,00 Gen."

Someone called out over the link -Sword-Shark 2-4 – and her hands immediately went for the control of her missiles. Waiting for the distance to close she watched worriedly how a group of enemy contacts veered off and towards them, their signals appearing and disappearing again and again as they radar struggled with their jamming: her missiles unable to get a lock and the distance shrinking further and further, until they went into visible range and her blood run cold as the air around them was suddenly filled with bright white bolts that rained into their formation – even a gracing shot enough to tear open a fighter and disintegrate it in the air through its very speed. But then lock! They had to manoeuvre…they had to at this range! But even as they others tried so, she could see the enemy's mosquitos nimble awaiting the counter fire with their own inferior guns: which were simply outranged by the energy weapons the invaders had and those that did hid were showing little to no effect.

"Lock!"

A hoarse voice cried out and only later she would recognize it as her own as her gloved hands pressed down on the trigger of the control and the four missiles she carried lurched forward, frankly at a range they weren`t suited for: after all no matter how much they wanted to evade dogfighting with the superior crafts of the enemy…they couldn`t see them at greater rangers as it showed once more: the crafts around her being picked off by energy fire and the lead wings quickly melting away under the onslaught. But at 28 Gen the range was still possible for their missiles to operate in and dozens of them reached out for the enemies…whose number wasn`t even possible to judge with the number of contacts listened rising and falling between thirty-three to forty-one on the radar.

Stubbornly holding her lock, she kept her plane as steady as possible, the missiles locking more tightly with each passing moment, the enemy fighter now starting to evade and fire back at her: but even as the energy bolts hammered into the air around her and one nearly touched the glass panel of her cockpit, she didn`t allow herself to be thrown off…

…only for the enemy to disappear from the radar completely once more the jamming intensifying and the missiles they had shot veering off into the distance without a target. Looking up her eyes widened as she found herself looking at the underside of the enemy escort: the luminescent belly of the beast staring back at her as it suddenly opened up with its defence weapons and the few dozen planes that remained tried to either veer off sharply or were picked off by a rain of bolts that punched through their hulls and killed the pilots nearly instantly as the weapons were far too charged for simple targets like them.

Looking at the radar she had to fight back the bile rising in her: they had destroyed less than half a dozen enemy mosquitos with their raid and nearly none of the missiles they had fired had found their mark, now they were going to be picked off by…

…the next thing she knew was that her plane was twirled through the air: alarms blaring in her helm and instruments dipping into dangerous regions as the whole right of her vision filled with fire. Like lightning and thunder the missiles the military had promised were raining down from the sky: dozens of them ripping through the air and impacting on top of the enemy: nuclear fire consuming its back, the living hull, the nightmares dwelling inside and the unfortunate prisoners they had taken. But even as she pulled back she could see the beast fight back: energy fire lashing out into the sky and exploding prematurely: bathing the sky in radiation and destroying the ground below it with each explosion and the shockwave it sends outwards.

She was enraptured by the image before her: more and more missiles exploding before they could touch down but a few slipping through the defences and impacting the ship or the ground below it: turning the region into a nuclear hells cape…. destroying the capital before the invader could take it and with a cry that lashed into their very minds: the backbone of the ship snapped and the hull started to break: raining down onto the city below….onto the ruins as she could hear a cheer in her link, connecting her to the rest of the wings…the five or six survivors that had escaped together with her.

"Athor Tyrus! From Vilenna!",

A voice suddenly cried out in triumph and she had to smile as she recognized the voice of the airplane club member from before. The other voices soon joined in, filling the radio with the chatter of survivors:

"Prosin Coz! From Allena!"

"Balion Rondor! From the Capital!"

"Lt. Thastal of the Carrier Invincible."

"Ideia Vos, Aerospace nickname Aurora!"

Smiling to herself as she could see the invaders ship crash into the ground with her own two eyes, she activated the radio and wanted to join in:

"Captain Al-"

She didn`t get to finish her words as Thastal`s fighter turned into a glowing fireball in this moment, just like the unluckily named Invincible before. Breaking into a turn the five remaining planes scattered…more than twenty mosquitos once more darting towards them. This time there was no fire, no missiles…they picked of Balion, who died over the grounds of his home town and whose remains would join the radioactive dust…while Vos lived up to her nickname and steered her plane directly into the enemy's path and with a quick manoeuvre throw herself into the path of the lead mosquito, that was too quick to evade and exploded together with her.

After this she found her surroundings under fire too and she was thrown to the side and then back into her seat as a bolt shot through her right wing and tore it right off: at which point she lost the control of it and desperately reached down for the catapult seat…

…it felt like she was going to pressed out of her own skin as the small explosives opened the cockpit and hurled it away, after which she herself as catapulted into the cool air: the wind tearing on her flight suit as the chair opened the parachute and she could watch the mosquitos fly away over her, while her plane reached the ground without her and burst apart in flames and shrapnel's, in the middle of a cabbage field.

Minutes later she also touched firm ground once more, the parachute gathering on the ground behind her as she reached up with trembling hands and pulled the straps open that had hold her firm: allowing herself to rise and…promptly fall down once more as she pulled off her helmet and gasped for air, her stomach turning as she slowly pushed herself up once more: her legs feeling like jelly as she looked up…and her blood froze as she heard a familiar wailing coming closer, darting to the left as she saw a mosquito approach, its gathering beam activated and moving over the open field…towards her.

She didn`t hear Tyrus in her radio anymore, didn`t look to the left or right…she simply saw the incoming beam and reached for the pistol that was intended for the pilots to defend themselves with. Raising her hand towards the sky and the approaching craft she started to empty her magazine at it defiantly, the rounds showing no effect as the beam came closer and closer. With a click the magazine was empty and fell out of her hands, the captain letting out a last humourless laugh as the beam washed over her…never seeing how Tyrus old Albatross flew over the darts back and unleashed a volley of its larger calibre guns into its back: making it tumble and crash as it fell into the nearby lake: the pilot barely able to exit the craft and to curse the cattle on this planet as it sunk to be never seen again…

"She`s waking up…"

"Are you sure?"

"Pulse is weak…"

"Dispension…"

"Pilot?"

The words floated around her as she slowly started to wake up, her whole body feeling…drained, even more so than the last time…last time…on-board her ship…no…there had been…a plane? A mission…an enemy escort….The Capital! She wanted to jump up: to throw off the covers she could feel on herself and to cry out, but the only thing that left her dry lips where a whispered: "—apital-"

Then gentle but firm hands held her down as she tried to move and wanted to open her eyes, even if they felt as heavy as lead and even the bit of light she could see with her eyelids closed hurt. As she tried to protest a cup with water was pressed against her lips and she greedily started to sip from it…even as it seemed to burn on its way down her throat and she slipped right into a coughing fit as it was pulled back once more and her head was held up lightly before it got lowered onto the pillow once more. Slowly opening her eyes once more, she looked up at the worried faces of…a doctor? A nurse…they were wearing the uniforms associated with it…military hospital?

"Rank and Name?", a gruff voice said and she looked up into the round face of an older man: his mouth pressed into a firm line and his hair thin with small locks. But her surprise…and slight annoyance quickly turned into surprise and then into embarrassment as she tried to take stand at attention…which ended up looking quite strangled in a hospital bed, as she gasped out:

"S-supreme Commander…Sir.", before quickly reciting: "Captain, Thysara Mhelon, Confederate Navy, last posting on board the Cruiser G.C.N. Guardian, which was destroyed in the battle for the Asilian Navy installation. Sir..I…"

Too many thoughts were whirling through her head: the last Supreme Commander had been the former Admiral Mithol, so what had happened to him…how did the battle for the capital go out? If they were in a military hospital, then they were still resisting the invaders... Those around her looked just as confused as her as they listened to her words, looking at one another and then back at her once more, the doctor in his white lab coat coughing lightly to get her attention.

"Captain Mhelon…can you tell us when you were posted on the Guardian?"

The question was strange? But then she remembered the bombardments and nodded, most likely had the computer systems of the headquarters been destroyed or compromised, they were simply trying to identify her:

"Yes Colonel…", she started, using the doctors military rank that was visible on his colour. Thinking for a moment before saying: "It had been the 35th of the sixth Month in 3045 A.F.G."

As soon as she said that everyone fell silent again and simply stared at her, making her shift a bit uncomfortable as she noticed the searching gaze of the current supreme commander, making her cough too, but unlike the doctor this was more because her throat really felt itchy. Then she said:

"Supreme Commander…I…how soon can I be sent to another ship? I was pulled into active service again in the fight for the capital and I want to help in the fight against the invaders, is there any ship that could need me?"

The man stared at her for a moment, before curtly replying:

"I`m sorry to disappoint you Captain, but there are currently no forces of ours that operate above the ground, except for smaller units."

Looking around it…it did make sense: no windows and concrete everywhere she looked: a bunker? Thoughtfully she nodded, and then tried again:

"With all respect then Supreme Commander, I should be send to the capital again: I`m sure I won`t be of any use in the command centre here. I do not know where it has been build, but if your planet does not have fleet assets I`m not really able to be of any use."

The doctor slowly moved forward again, as did the nurses, shielding her…or shielding them? She didn`t know for sure but the doctor leant in and slowly said:

"Captain…you are on the capital….but we do not have any ships…for that purpose: any planes left."

Looking at him flabbergasted, Mhelon could only stare as she imagined what could have happened while she was unconscious: had they withdrawn into the bunkers? Started to wage a guerrilla warfare against the enemy…had they…

"Captain.",

The strong voice of the head of all Confederate military pulled her out of her panic stricken musings and the man -who did cut an imposing and strong figure- leaned forward, announcing slowly:

"My name is Cowen, Supreme Commander of the Genii Confederation of Planets…you are on the home world, on Genii. Today is the 23th of the fourth month in the year 4113 A.F.G.

Captain…expecting you for your long overdue debriefing tomorrow morning."

And with that…he left.


End file.
